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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap Copjright No... 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



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ING, 



MOTHER GOOSE 



FOR GROWN FOLKS 



BY 



Mrs. A. D. T. WHITNEY 



NEW, REVISED, AND ENLARGED EDITION, ILLUS- 
TRATED BY AUGUSTUS HOPPIN 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

®b* fitoersi&c press, ^Tambribge 

1898 



1*98 



18627 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by 

. A. K. LORING, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 

Copyright, 1882, 
By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 

Copyright, 1898, 
By ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY. 

All rights reserved. 




The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S A 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton A; Company. 



CONTENTS. 



FAOft 

Introductory 1 

Brahmic 6 

Little Boy Blub 9 

HlCCORY, DlCCORY, DOCK . . . . . .13 

Bo-Peep 18 

Solomon Grundy 21 

Bowls 23 

Cradled in Green ... 27 

1 SlMILIA SlMILIBUS M 30 

hobby-horses 34 

Missions 36 

Going Back to our Muttons ...... 40 

Going to Dover 44 

Rags and Robes 47 

Blackbirds 52 

Banbury Cross . .... . • 57 

Attic Salt 62 

The Big Shoe 65 

Victuals and Drink 70 

Cobwebs and Brooms 76 

Black Spiders ... .... 79 



iv CONTENTS. 

Daffy-Down-Dilly ...»••• 5* 

Baa, Baa, Black Sheep 84 

The Twister 86 

Fantasy 88 

Jingling and Jangling . 92 

The Old Woman of Surrey 97 

Pickle Peppers . 100 

HUMPTY DUMPTY 102 

Sunday and Monday . . . . . . .106 

The Mad Horse . 109 

Roses and Diamonds 114 

Jack Horner 115 

Inty, Minty . 121 

Doubles and Bubbles 124 

Funeral Holiday 127 

Disrobed 131 

Jack and Jill 135 

Casus Belli ......... 138 

The Days that are Long 140 

Threescore and Ten ....... 142 

Two Little Blackbirds 144 

Taffy 148 

Margery Daw • • . 150 

Troubled with Rats . . • • • • .153 

Little Robin Redbreast ••••••• 156 

Wheelbarrow Broke . • • • . • .160 
The Footpath Way . . • • • • • .165 

Up a Tree 170 

The Crooked Man 173 

The Four Winds 177 

The Piper and the Cow . . • • • • .180 



CONTENTS. V 

Behind the Loo •••••••• 184 

Shoe and Fiddle 185 

Swing, Swong 188 

Shuttlecock 190 

The Man in the Wilderness 191 

Prae and Post 193 

Quite Contrary 196 

Along, Long, Long . . . . • . .199 

Finis . . 201 

Conclusion • • « 202 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

♦ 

MM 

Black Spiders Frontispiece 

Cradled in Green 27 

Banbury Cross 57 

Fantasy . 88 

Jack Horner 115 

Up a Tree 170 

Behind the Loo 184 



INTRODUCTORY. 



Somewhere in that uncertain u long ago/' 
Whose dim and vague chronology is all 

That elfin tales or nursery fables know, 

Rose a rare spirit, — keen, and quick, and 
quaint, — 

Whom by the title, whether fact or feint, 
Mythic or real, Mother Goose we call. 

Of Momus and Minerva sprang the birth 
That gave the laughing oracle to earth : 



2 INTRODUCTORY. 

A brimming bowl she bears, that, frothing 
high 
With sparkling nonsense, seemeth non- 
sense all; 
Till, the bright, floating syllabub blown by, 
Lo, in its ruby splendor doth upshine 
The crimson radiance of Olympian wine 
By Pallas poured, in Jove's own banquet- 
hall. 

The world was but a baby when she came ; 
So to her songs it listened, and her name 
Grew to a word of power, her voice a spell 
With charm to soothe its infant wearying 

well. 
But, in a later and maturer age, 
Developed to a dignity more sage, 
Having its Shakspeares and its Words- 

worths now, 



INTRODUCTORY. 6 

Its Southeys and its Tennysons, to wear 

A halo on the high and lordly brow, 

Or poet-laurels in the waving hair ; 

Its Lowells, Whittiers, Longfellows, to sing 

Ballads of beauty, like the notes of spring, 

The wise and prudent ones to nursery use 

Leave the dear lyrics of old Mother Goose. 

Wisdom of babes, — the nursery Shak- 

speare still, — 
Cackles she ever with the same good-will : 
Uttering deep counsels in a foolish guise, 
That come as warnings, even to the wise ; 
As when, of old, the martial city slept, 
Unconscious of the wily foe that crept 
Under the midnight, till the alarm was heard 
Out from the mouth of Rome's plebeian 

bird. 



4 INTRODUCTORY. 

Full many a rare and subtile thing hath 

she, 
Undreamed of in the world's philosophy : 
Toss-balls for children hath she humbly 

rolled., 
That shining jewels secretly enfold ; 
Sibylline leaves she casteth on the air, 
Twisted in fool's-caps, blown unheeded by, 
That, in their lines grotesque, albeit, bear 
Words of grave truth, and signal prophecy ; 
And lurking satire, whose sharp lashes hit 
A world of follies with their homely wit ; 
With here and there a roughly uttered hint, 
That makes you wonder at the beauty 

in't; 
As if, along the wayside's dusty edge, 
A hot-house flower had blossomed in a 

hedge. 



INTRODUCTORY. 

So, like brave Layard in old Nineveh, 
Among the memories of ancient song, 
As curious relics, I would fain bestir ; 
And gather, if it might be, into strong 
And shapely show, some wealth of its 

lost lore ; 
Fragments of Truth's own architecture, 

strewed 
In forms disjointed, whimsical, and rude, 
That yet, to simpler vision, grandly stood 
Complete, beneath the golden light of 

yore ! 



BRAHMIC. 



If a great poet think he sings. 
Or if the poem think it 's sung, 

They do but sport the scattered plumes 
That Mother Goose aside hath flung. 

Far or forgot to me is near: 

Shakspeare and Punch are all the same ; 
The vanished thoughts do reappear, 

And shape themselves to fun or fame. 



They use my quills, and leave me out, 
Oblivious that I wear the wings ; 



BRAHMIC. 7 

Or that a Goose has been about, 
When every little gosling sings. 

Strong men may strive for grander thought, 
But, six times out of every seven, 

My old philosophy hath taught 

All they can master this side heaven. 



LITTLE BOY BLUE. 



" Little boy blue ! come blow your horn ! 
The sheep in the meadow, the cows in the corn ! 
Where 's little boy blue, that looks after the sheep ? 
He 's under the hay-mow, fast asleep ! " 

Op morals in novels, we 've had not a few ; 
With now and then novel moralities too ; 
And we 've weekly exhortings from pulpit 

to pew ; 
But it strikes me, — and so it may chance 

to strike you, — 
Scarce any are better than "Little Boy 

Blue/' 



10 LITTLE BOY BLUE. 

For the veteran dame knows her business 

right well. 
And her quaint admonitions unerringly 

tell: 
She strings a few odd, careless words in a 

jingle, 
And the sharp, latent truth fairly makes 
your ears tingle. 

" Azure-robed Youth ! " she cries, " up to 

thy post! 
And watch, lest thy wealth be all scattered 

and lost: 
Silly thoughts are astray, beyond call of 

the horn, 
And passion breaks loose, and gets into the 

corn! 



LITTLE BOY BLUE. 11 

Is this the way Conscience looks after her 
sheep ? 

In the world's soothing shadow, gone sound- 
ly asleep ? " 

Is n't that, now, a sermon ? No lengthened 
vexation 

Of heads, and divisions, and argumenta- 
tion, 

But a straightforward leap to the sure ap- 
plication ; 

And, though many a longer harangue is 
forgot, 

Of which careful reporters take notes on 
the spot, 

I think, — as the " Deacon " declared of his 
"shay," 



12 LITTLE BOY BLUE. 

Put together for lasting for ever and aye, — 
A like immortality holding in view, 
The old lady's discourse will undoubtedly 
"dew"! 



HICCORY, DICCORY, DOCK. 



11 Hiccory, diccory, dock ! 
The mouse ran up the clock. 
The clock struck one, and down she run : 
Hiccory, diccory, dock ! " 

She had her simple nest in a safe and cun- 
ning place, 

Away down in the quiet of the deep, old- 
fashioned case. 

A little crevice nibbled out led forth into 
the world, 

And overhead, on busy wheels, the houra 
and minutes whirled. 

High up in mystic glooms of space was 

awful scenery 
Of wires, and weights, and springs, and all 

great Time's machine* y; 

13 



14 HICCORY, DICCORY, DOCK. 

But she had nought to do witji these; a 

blessed little mouse, 
Whose only care beneath the sun was just 

to keep her house. 



For this was all she knew, or could; with- 
out her, just the same 

The earth's great centre drew the weight; 
the pendulum went and came; 

Ajid days were born, and grew, and died ; 
and stroke by stroke were told 

The hours by which the world and men 
are ever growing old. 



It suddenly occurred to her, — it struck her 

all at once, — 
That living among things of power, her* 

self had been a dunce. 



HICCORY, DICCORY, DOCK. 15 

?f Somebody winds the clock!" she cried 
w Somebody comes and brings 

An iron finger that feels through and fum- 
bles at the springs; 

"And then it happens; then the buzz is 

stirred afar and near, 
And the hour sounds, and everywhere the 

great world stops to hear. 
I don't think, after all, it seems so hard a 

thing to do. 
I know the way — I might run up and 

make folks listen too." 

She sprang upon the leaden weight; but 
not the merest whit 

Did all her added gravity avail to hurry it. 

She clambered up the steady cord ; it wav- 
ered not a hair. 

She got among the earnest wheels; they 
knew not she was there. 



16 HICCORY, DICCORY, DOCK. 

She sat beside the silent bell; the patient 
hammer lay 

Waiting an unseen bidding for the word 
that it should say. 

Only a solemn whisper thrilled the cham- 
bers of the clock, 

And the mouse listened: * Hiccory! hie — 
diccory ! die — dock ! " 



Something was coming. She had hit the 
ripeness of the time; 

No tiny second was outreached by that ex- 
ultant climb; 

In no wise did the planet turn the faster to 
the sun; 

She only met the instant, but the great 
clock sounded — ** One ! " 



HICCORY, DICCORY, DOCK. 17 

What then? Did she stand gloriously 

among those central things, 
Her eye upon the vibrant bell, her heel 

upon the springs? 
Was her soul grand in unison with that 

resounding chime. 
And her pulse-beat identical with the high 

pulse of Time? 

Ah, she was little! When the air first 

shattered with that shock, 
Down ran the mouse into her hole. K Hie, 

diccory ! die — dock ! " 
Too plain to be translated is the truth the 

tale would show, 
Small souls, in solemn upshot, had better 

wait below. 



BO-PEEP. 



" Little Bo-Peep 

Has lost her sheep, 
And does n't know where to find 'em 

Let 'em alone, 

And they '11 come home, 
And bring their tails behind 'em/* 

Hope beckoned Youth, and bade him keep. 
On Life's broad plain, his shining sheep, 
And while along the sward they came, 
He called them over, each by name ; 
This one was Friendship, — that was Health; 
Another Love, — another Wealth ; 



BO-PEEP. 19 

One, fat, full-fleeced, was Social Station ; 
Another, stainless, Reputation ; 
In truth, a goodly flock of sheep, — 
A goodly flock, but hard to keep. 

Youth laid him down beside a fountain ; 
Hope spread his wings to scale a mountain ; 
And, somehow, Youth fell fast asleep, 
And left his crook to tend the sheep : 
No wonder, as the legend says, 
They took to very crooked ways. 

He woke — to hear a distant bleating, — 
The faithless quadrupeds were fleeting ! 

Wealth vanished first, with stealthy tread, 
Then Friendship followed — to be fed, — 
And foolish Love was after led ; 



20 BO-PEEP. 

Fair Fame, — alas ! some thievish scamp 
Had marked him with his own black stamp ! 
And he, with Honor at his heels, 
Was out of sight across the fields. 

Health just hangs doubtful, — distant Hope 
Looks backward from the mountain slope, — 
And Youth himself — no longer Youth — 
Stands face to face with bitter Truth. 

Yet let them go ! 'T were all in vain 
To linger here in faith to find 'em ; 
Forward ! — nor pause to think of pain, — 
Till somewhere, on a nobler plain, 
A surer Hope shall lead the train 
Of joys withheld to come again 

With golden fleeces trailed behind 'em ! 



SOLOMON GRUNDY. 



" Solomon Grundy 
Born on Monday, 
Christened on Tuesday, 
Married on Wednesday, 
Sick on Thursday, 
Worse on Friday, 
Dead on Saturday, 
Buried on Sunday : 
This was the end 
Of Solomon Grundy." 

So sings the unpretentious Muse 
That guides the quill of Mother Goose, 
And in one week of mortal strife 
Presents the epitome of Life : 



22 SOLOMON GRUNDY. 

But down sits Billy Shakspeare next, 
And, coolly taking up the text, 
His thought pursues the trail of mine, 
And, lo ! the " Seven Ages " shine ! 
world ! critics ! can't you see 
How Shakspeare plagiarizes me ? 

And other bards will after come, 

To echo in a later age, 
" He lived, — he died : behold the sum, 

The abstract of the historian's page " ; ■ 
Yet once for all the thing was done, 

Complete in Grundy's pilgrimage. 

For not a child upon the knee 
But hath the moral learned of me ; 
And measured, in a seven days' span, 
The whole experience of man. 



BOWLS. 



" Three wise men of Gotham 
Went to sea in a bowl : 
If the bowl had been stronger, 
My song had been longer." 



Mysteriously suggestive ! A vague hint, 
Yet a rare touch of most effective art, 
That of the bowl, and all the voyagers in 't, 
Tells nothing, save the fact that they did 
start. 
There ending suddenly, with subtle craft, 
The story stands, — as 'twere a broken 
shaft, — ' 



24 BOWLS. 

More eloquent in mute signification, 
Than lengthened detail, or precise relation. 
So perfect in its very non-achieving, 
That, of a truth, I cannot help believing 
A rash attempt at paraphrasing it 
May prove a blunder, rather than a hit. 

Still, I must wish the venerable soul 
Had been explicit as regards the howl. 
Was it, perhaps, a railroad speculation ? 
Or a big ship to carry all creation, 
That, by some kink of its machinery, 
Failed, in the end, to carry even three ? 
Or other fond, erroneous calculation 
Of splendid schemes that died disastrously ? 

It must have been of Gotham manufacture ; 
Though strangely weak, and liable to frac- 
ture. 



BOWLS. 25 

Yet — pause a moment — strangely, did I 

say? 
Scarcely, since, after all, it was but clay ; — 
The stuff Hope takes to build her brittle 

boat, 
And therein sets the wisest men afloat. 
Truly, a bark would need be somewhat 

stronger, 
To make the halting history much longer. 

Doubtless, the good Dame did but gener- 
alize, — 
Took a broad glance at human enterprise, 
And earthly expectation, and so drew, 
In pithy lines, a parable most true, — 
Kindly to warn us ere we sail away, 
With life's great venture, in an ark of 
clay, 



26 BOWLS. 

Where shivered fragments all around be- 
token, 

How even the " golden bowl" at last lies 
broken ! 



CRADLED IN GREEN, 



" Rockaby, baby, 

Your cradle is green ; 
Father 's a nobleman, 

Mother 's a queen ; 
And Betty 'a a lady, 

And wears a gold ring, 
And Johnny 's a drummer, 

And drums for the king ! " 

golden gift of childhood ! 

That, with its kingly touch, 
Transforms to more than royalty 

The thing it loveth much ! 



28 CRADLED IN GREEN. 

second sight, bestowed alone 

Upon the baby seer, 
That the glory held in Heaven's reserve 

Discerneth even here ! 

Though he be the humblest craftsman, 

No silk nor ermine piled 
Could make the father seem a whit 

More noble to the child ; 
And the mother, — ah, what queenlier crown 

Could rest upon her brow, 
Than the fair and gentle dignity 

It weareth to him now ? 

E'en the gilded ring that Michael 

For a penny fairing bought, 
Is the seal of Betty's ladyhood 

To his untutored thought; 



CRADLED IN GREEN. 29 

And the darling drum about his neck, — 

His very newest toy, — 
A bandsman unto Majesty 

Hath straightway made the boy ! 

golden gift of childhood ! 

If the talisman might last. 
How the dull Present still should gleam 

With the glory of the Past ! 
But the things of earth about us 

Fade and dwindle as we go, 
And the long perspective of our life 

Is truth ; and not a show ! 



"SIMILIA SIMILIBUS." 



u There was a man in our town, 

And he was wondrous wise : 
He jumped into a bramble-bush, 

And scratched out both his eyes. 
But when he saw his eyes were out, 

With all his might and main 
He jumped into another bush, 

And scratched them in again ! " 

Old Dr. Hahnemann read the tale, 
(And he was wondrous wise,) 

Of the man who, in the bramble-bush, 
Had scratched out both his eyes. 



"SIMILIA SLMILIBUS." 31 

And the fancy tickled mightily 

His misty German brain, 
That, by jumping in another bush, 

He got them back again. 

So he called it " homo-hop-athy " • 

And soon it came about, 
That a curious crowd among the thorns 

Was hopping in and out. 
Yet, disguise it by the longest name 

They may, it is no use ; 
For the world knows the discovery 

Was made by Mother Goose ! 

And not alone in medicine 

Doth the theory hold good : 
In Life and in Philosophy, 

The maxim still hath stood : 



32 "SIMILIA SIMILIBUS." 

A morsel more of anything, 
When one has got enough, 

And Nature's energy disowns 
The whole unkindly stuff. 

A second negative affirms ; 

And two magnetic poles 
Of charge identical, repel, — 

As sameness sunders souls. 
Touched with a first, fresh suffering, 

All solace is despised ; 
But gathered sorrows grow serene, 

And grief is neutralized. 

And he who, in the world's melee, 
Hath chanced the worse to catch, 

May mend the matter, if he come 
Back, boldly, to the scratch ; 



u STMTTJA SIMILIBUS." 33 

Minding the lesson he received 
In boyhood, from his mother, 

Whose cheery word, for many a bump, 
Was, Up and take another! 



HOBBY-HORSES. 



* I had a little pony, 

His name was Dapple Gray : 
1 lent him to a lady 

To ride a mile away. 
She whipped him, 

She lashed him, 
She rode him through the mire ; 
I would n't lend my pony now, 
For all the lady's hire." 

Our hobbies, of whatever sort 
They be, mine honest friend, 

Of fancy, enterprise, or thought, 
'T is hardly wise to lend. 



HOBBY-HORSES. 35 

Some fair imagination, shrined 

In form poetic, maybe, 
You fondly trusted to the World, — 

That most capricious Lady. 

Or a high, romantic theory, 

Magnificently planned, 
In flush of eager confidence 

You bade her take in hand. 

But she whipped it, and she lashed it, 
And bespattered it with mire, 

Till your very soul felt stained within, 
And scourged with stripes of fire. 

Yet take this thought, and hold it fast, 

Ye Martyrs of To-day I 
That same great World, with all its scorn, 

You y ve lifted on its way ! 



MISSIONS. 



u Hogs in the garden, — 
Catch 'em, Towser 1 
Cows in the cornfield, — 

Run, boys, run ! * 
Fire on the mountains, — 

Run, boys, run boys ! 
Cats in the cream-pot, — 
Run, girls, run ! " 

I don't stand up for Woman's Right; 

Not I, — no, no ! 
The real lionesses fight, — 

I let it go. 



MISSIONS. 37 

Yet, somehow, as I catch the call 

Of the world's voice, 
That speaks a summons unto all 

Its girls and boys ; 

In such strange contrast still it rings 

As church-bells' borne 
To the pert sound of tinkling things 

One heaA at home ; 
And wakes an impulse, not germane 

Perhaps, to woman. 
Yet with a thrill that makes it plain 

'T is truly human ; — 

A sudden tingle at the springs 

Of noble feeling, 
The spirit-power for valiant things 

Clearly revealing. 



38 MISSIONS. 

But Eden's curse doth daily deal 

Its certain dole, — 
And the old grasp upon the heel 

Holds back the soul ! 

So, when some rousing deed 's to do, 

To save a nation, 
Or, on the mountains, to subdue 

A conflagration, 
Woman ! the work is not for you ; 

Mind your vocation ! 
Out from the cream-pot comes a mew 

Of tribulation! 

Meekly the world's great exploits leave 

Unto your betters ; 
So bear the punishment of Eve, 

Spirit in fetters ! 



MISSIONS. 39 

Only, the hidden fires will glow, 

And, now and then, 
A beacon blazeth out below 

That startles men ! 

Some Joan, through battle-field to stake, 

Danger embracing ; 
Some Florence, for sweet mercy's sake 

Pestilence facing ; 
Whose holy valor vindicates 

The royal birth 
That, for its crowning, only waits 

The end of earth ; 
And, haply, when we all stand freed, 

In strength immortal, 
Such virgin-lamps the host shall lead 

Through heaven's portal ! 



GOING BACK TO OUR MUTTONS. 



a There was an old man of Tobago, 
Who lived on rice, gruel, and sago, 

Till, much to his bliss, 

His physician said this : 
To a leg, sir, of mutton, you may go. 
He set a monkey to baste the mutton, 
And ten pounds of butter he put on/' 

a Chain up a child, and away he will go " ; 

I have heard of the proverb interpreted so; 

The spendthrift is son to the miser, — and 
still, 

When the Devil would work his most piti- 
less will, 



GOING BACK TO OUR MUTTONS. 41 

He sends forth the seven, for such embas- 
sies kept, 

To the house that is empty and garnished 
and swept : 

For poor human nature a pendulum seems, 

That must constantly vibrate between two 
extremes. 

The closer the arrow is drawn to the 

bow, 
Once slipped from the string, all the further 

't will go : 
Let a panic arise in the world of finance, 
And the mad flight of Fashion be checked 

by the chance, 
It certainly seems a most wonderful thing, 
When the ropes are let go again, how it 

will swing ! 



42 GOING BACK TO OUR MUTTONS. 

And even the decent observance of Lent, 
Stirs sometimes a doubt how the time has 

been spent, 
When Easter brings out the new bonnets 

and gowns, 
And a flood of gay colors o'erflows in the 

towns. 

So in all things the feast doth still follow 

the fast, 
And the force of the contrast gives zest to 

the last ; 
And until he is tried, no frail mortal can 

tell, 
The inch being offered, he won't take the 

ell. 
We are righteously shocked at the follies 

of fashion ; 



GOING BACK TO OUR MUTTONS. 43 

Nay, standing outside, may get quite in a 
passion 
At the prodigal flourishes other folks put 
on: 
But many good people this side of Tobago, 
If respited once from their diet of sago, 
Would outdo the monkey in basting the 
mutton J 



GOING TO DOVER. 



a Leg over leg 

As the dog went to Dover ; 
When he came to a stile, 
Jump he went over." 

Perhaps you would n't see it here, 
But, to my fancy, 't is quite clear 
That Mother Goose just meant to show 
How the dog Patience on doth go : 
With steadfast nozzle, pointing low, — 
Leg over leg, however slow, — 
And labored breath, but naught complaining, 
Still, at each footstep, somewhat gaining, — 



GOING TO DOVER. 45 

Quietly plodding, mile on mile, 

And gathering for a nervous bound 

At every interposing stile, — 
So traversing the tedious ground, 

Till all, at length, he measures over, 

Ajid walks, a victor, into Do^er, 

And, verily, no other way 
Doth human progress win the day; 
Step after step, — and o'er and o'er, — 
Each seeming like the one before 
So that 't is only once a while, — 
When sudden Genius springs the stile 
That marks a section of the plain, 
Beyond whose bound fresh fields again 
Their widening stretch untrodden sweep, — 
The world looks round to see the leap. 



46 GOING TO DOVER. 

Pale Science, in her laboratory, 
Works on with crucible and wire 

Unnoticed, till an instant glory 

Crowns some high issue, as with fire, 

And men, with wondering eyes awide, 

Gauge great Invention's giant stride. 

No age, no race, no single soul, 
By lofty tumbling gains the goal. 
The steady pace it keeps between, — 
The little points it makes unseen, — 
By these, achieved in gathering might, 
It moveth on, and out of sight, 
And wins, through all that 's overpast, 
The city of its hopes at last. 



RAGS AND ROBES. 



u Hark, hark ! 

The dogs do bark ; 
Beggars are coming to town : 

Some in rags, 

Some in tags, 
And some in velvet gowns ! " 

Coming, coming always ! 
Crowding into earth ; 
Seizing on this human life, 
Beggars from the birth. 



48 RAGS AND ROBES. 

Some in patent penury ; 

Some, alas ! in shame ; 
And some in fading velvet 

Of hereditary fame ; 

But all in deep, appeaseless want, 

As mendicants to live ; 
And go beseeching through the world, 

For what the world may give. 

Beggars, beggars, all of us ! 
Expectants from our youth : 
With hands outstretched, and asking alms 
Of Hope and Love and Truth. 

Nor, verily, doth he escape 
Who, wrapt in cold contempt, 

Denies alike to give or take, 
And dreams himself exempt ; 



RAGS AND ROBES. 49 

Who never, in appeal to man, 

Nor in a prayer to Heaven, 
Will own that aught he doth desire, 

Or ask that aught be given. 

Whose human heart a stoic pride 

Folds as a velvet pall ; 
Yet hides a meagreness within, 

Worse beggary than all ! 



Coming, coming always ! 
And the bluff Apostle waits 
AlS the throng pours upward from the earth 
To Heaven's eternal gates. 

In shreds of torn affection, 
In passion-rended rags ; 



50 RAGS AND ROBES. 

While scarcely at the portal 

The great procession flags ; 

For the pillared doors of glory 
On their hinges hang awide ; 

Where each asking soul may enter, 
And at last be satisfied ! 

But a cold, calm shade arriveth P 
In self-complacent trim, — 

And Peter riseth up to see 
Especially to him. 

a Good morrow, saint ! I 'm going in 
To take a stroll, you know ; 

Not that J want for anything, — 
But just to see the show!" 

u Hold ! " thunders out the warden, 
a Be pleased to pause a bit ! 



RAGS AND ROBES. 51 

For seats celestial, let me say, 

You 're not apparelled fit : 
Yonder 's the brazen door that leads 

Spectators to the pit ! 

Whatever may be thought on earth, 
We 've other rules in heaven ; 

And only poverty confessed 
Finds free admittance given ! " 



BLACKBIRDS. 



u Sing a song o' sixpence, a pocket full of rye ; 
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie : 
When the pie was opened, they all began to sing, 
And was n't this a dainty dish to set before the king ? 
The king was in his counting-house, counting out his 

money ; 
The queen was in the parlor, eating bread and honey ; 
The maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes, 
And along came a blackbird, and nipt off her nose ! " 

It doesn't take a conjurer to see 
The sort of curious pasty this might be ; 
A flock of flying rumors, caught alive, 
And housed, like swarming bees within a 
hive, — 



BLACKBIRDS. 53 

Instead of what were far more wisely 

done, 
Having their worthless necks wrung, every 

one; — 
And so a dish of dainty gossip making, 

Smooth covered with a show of secrecy, 
That one but takes the pleasant pains of 

breaking, 
And out the Wide-mouthed knaves pop, 

eagerly. 

Blackbirds, indeed! Each chattering on* 

dit 
C iomes forth, full feathered, black as black 

can be ; 
With quivering throats, all tremulous to 

sing, 
And please, forsooth, some little social 

king; 



54 BLACKBIRDS. 

Whose reign may last as long as he is able 
To call his court around a dinner-table. 

But, mark the sequel ! When the laugh is 

over, 
Think not to get the varlets under cover : 
The crust once broken, you may seek in vain 
To catch the birds, or coax them in again ; 
Mrs. Pandora's famous box, I wis, 
Was nothing worse than such a pie as this : 
And so, some pleasant morning, — when, 

down town, 
The king is busy with his bags of money, 
Leaving at home the queenly Mrs. Brown 
Safe at her breakfast of fair bread and 

honey, — 
Some quiet, harmless soul, who never 

knows 
Of any matters, save the plain pursuing 



BLACKBIRDS. 55 

Her daily round, — the hanging out of 
clothes 
Or other lawful work she may be doing, — 
Finds, by the sudden nipping of her nose, 
What sort of mischief is about her brew- 
ing ! 

Not that, indeed, there 's anything to hinder 
The thieves from flying though the parlor 

window ; 
For never yet could sentinel or warden 
Keep scandals wholly to the kitchen gar- 
den. 

When, therefore, as not seldom it may be, 
Even in the soberest community, 
Strange revelations somehow get about, — 
Like a mysterious cholera breaking out 



56 BLACKBIRDS. 

Sudden, as Egypt's blains 'neath Aaron's rod, 
Contagious by a whisper or a nod, — 
When daily papers teem with many a hint 
That daubs them darker even than their 

print ; 
When it would seem, in short, the very 

D 

Had let his little imps out on a spree ; 
Conclude, beyond a reasonable doubt, 
Although, perhaps, you fail to trace it out, 
Such plagues spring not unbidden from the 

ground, 
And, if the thing were sifted, 't would be 

found 
Somebody 's sown a pocket full of rye, 
Or been regaling on a blackbird pie ! 



BANBURY CROSS. 



a Ride a fine horse 

To Banbury Cross, 
To see a young woman 

Jump on a white horse. 
Rings on her fingers, 

And bells on her toes, 
And she shall have music 

Wherever she goes." 

Prophetic Dame ! What hadst thou in thy 

view ? 
A modern wedding in Fifth Avenue ? 



58 BANBURY CROSS. 

Where, — like the goddess of a heathen 
shrine, 
With offerings heaped in such a glittering 
show 
As must have emptied a Peruvian mine, 
And would suggest, but that we better 
know, 
Marriage must be a bitter thing indeed, 

And, like the Prophet of the Eastern tale, 
Must wear a very ugly face, to need 

Such careful shrouding in the silver 
veil, — 
Her bridal pomp, as a white palfrey, mount- 
ing, 
Caparisoned at cost beyond all counting, 
With diamond-jewelled fingers, and the 

toes 
Ditto, for all that anybody knows, 



BANBURY CROSS. 59 

The smiling damsel goeth to the Banns ? 

(Why add the "bury," or suggest the 
" cross/' 
As if such brilliant ringing of the hands 

Preluded aught of trial or of loss ?) 

Shall not Life's golden bells still tinkle 

sweet, 
And merry music make about her feet ? 
Shall not the silver sheen around her spread, 
A lasting light along her pathway shed ? 

No mocking satire, surely, hides a sting, 

Nor bitter irony a truth foreshows, 
In the gay chant the cheery dame doth 
sing, — 
"She shall have music wheresoe'er she 
goes " ? 



60 BANBURY CROSS. 

She shall have music ! Shall she sit apart, 
And let the folly-chimes outvoice the 

tone 
That comes up wailing to the listening 

heart, 
From the great world, where misery 

maketh moan ? 
Ah, Mother Goose ! if such the tale it tells, 
Sing us no more your rhyme of rings and 

bells ! 

But may not — 'twere a rare device in- 
deed ! — 
The wondrous oracle in both ways read ? 
And call up, as a fair beatitude, 
The gracious vision of true womanhood, 
That with pure purpose, and a gentle might, 
Upheld and borne, as by the steed of white, 



BANBURY CROSS. gj 

Pledged with her golden ring, goes nobly 

forth 
To trace her path of joy along the earth, — 
And, as she moves, makes music, silver-shod 
" With preparation of the peace " of God, 
That holds the key-note of celestial cheer, 
And hangs heaven's echoes round her foot- 
steps here ? 



ATTIC SALT. 



" Two little blackbirds sat upon a hill, 
One named Jack, the other named Jill ; 
Fly away, Jack ! fly away, Jill ! 
Come again, Jack ! come again, Jill ! " 



I half suspect that, after all, 

There's just the smallest bit 
Of inequality between 

The witling and the wit. 
9 Tis only mental nimbleness : 

No language ever brought 
A living word to soul of man 

But had the latent thought. 



ATTIC SALT. 63 

You may meet, among the million, 

Good people every day, — 
Unconscious martyrs to their fate, — 

"Who seem, in half they say, 
On the brink of something brilliant 

They were almost sure to clinch, 
Yet, by some queer freak of fortune, 

Just escape it by an inch ! 



I often think the selfsame shade, — 

This difference of a hair, — 
Divides between the men of nought 

And those who do and dare. 
An instant cometh on the wing, 

Bearing a kingly crown : 
This man is dazzled and lets it by — 

That seizes and brings it down. 



64 ATTIC SALT. 

Winged things may stoop to any door 

Alighting close and low ; 
And up and down, 'twixt earth and sky, 

J)o always come and go. 
Swift, fluttering glimpses touch us all, 

Yet, prithee, what avails? 
; Tis only Genius that can put 

The salt upon their tails! 



THE BIG SHOE. 



" There was an old woman 

Who lived in a shoe ; 
She had so many children 

She did n't know what to do : 
To some she gave broth, 

And to some she gave bread, 
And some she whipped soundly, 

And sent them to ted." 

Do you find out the likeness? 

A portly old Dame ? — , 
The mother of millions, — 

Britannia by name : 



66 THE BIG SHOE. 

And — howe'er it may strike you 

In reading the song — 
Not stinted in space 

For bestowing the throng ; 
Since the Sun can himself 

Hardly manage to go, 
In a day and a night, 

From the heel to the toe. 

On the arch of the instep 

She builds up her throne, 
And, with seas rolling under, 

She sits there alone ; 
With her heel at the foot 

Of the Himmalehs planted. 
And her toe in the icebergs, 

Unchilled and undaunted. 



THE BIG SHOE. 67 

Yet though justly of all 

Her fine family proud, 

'T is no light undertaking 

To rule such a crowd ; 
Not to mention the trouble 

Of seeing them fed, 
And dispensing with justice 

The broth and the bread. 
Some will seize upon one, — 

Some are left with the other, — 
And so the w r hole household 

Gets into a pother. 
But the rigid old Dame 

Has a summary way 
Of her own, when she finds 

There is mischief to pay. 
She just takes up the rod, 

As she lays down the spoon, 



68 THE BIG SHOE. 

And makes their rebellious backs 

Tingle right soon : 
Then she bids them, while yet 

The sore smarting they feel, 
To lie down, and go to sleep, 

Under her heel ! 

Only once was she posed, — 

When the little boy Sam, 
Who had always before 

Been as meek as a lamb, 
Eefused to take tea, 

As his mother had bid, 
And returned saucy answers 

Because he was chid. 

Not content even then, 

He cut loose from the throne, 



THE BIG SHOE. 69 

And set about making 

A shoe of his own ; 
Which succeeded so well, 

And was filled up so fast, 
That the world, in amazement, 

Confessed, at the last, — 
Looking on at the work 

With a gasp and a stare, — 
That 't was hard to tell which 

Would be best of the pair. 

Side by side they are standing 

Together to-day ; 
Side by side may they keep 

Their strong foothold for aye : 
And beneath the broad sea, 

Whose blue depths intervene, 
May the finishing string 

Lie unbroken between ! 



VICTUALS AND DRINK. 



" There once was a woman, 

And what do you think ? 
She lived upon nothing 

But victuals and drink. 
Victuals and drink 

Were the chief of her diet, 
And yet this poor woman 

Scarce ever was quiet/' 

And were you so foolish 

As really to think 
That all she could want 

Was her victuals and drink ? 



VICTUALS AND DRINK. 71 

And that while she was furnished 

With that sort of diet, 
Her feeling and fancy 

Would starve, and be quiet ? 

Mother Goose knew far better j 

But thought it sufficient 
To give a mere hint 

That the fare was deficient ; 
For I do not believe 

She could ever have meant 
To imply there was reason 

For being content* 

Yet the mass of mankind 

Is uncommonly slow 
To acknowledge the fact 

It behooves them to know ; 



72 VICTUALS AND DRINK. 

Or to learn that a woman 

Is not like a mouse, 
Needing nothing but cheese, 

And the walls of a house. 

But just take a man, — 

Shut him up for a day ; 
Get his hat and his cane, — 

Put them snugly away ; 
Give him stockings to mend, 

And three sumptuous meals ; — 
And then ask him, at night, 

If you dare, how he feels ! 
Do you think he will quietly 

Stick to the stocking, 
While you read the news, 

And " don't care about talking " ? 



VICTUALS AND DRINK. 73 

0, many a woman 

Goes starving, I ween, 
Who lives in a palace, 

And fares like a queen ; 
Till the famishing heart, 

And the feverish brain, 
Have spelled to life's end 

The long lesson of pain. 

Yet, stay ! To my mind 

An uneasy suggestion 
Comes up, that there may be 

Two sides to the question. 
That, while here and there proving 

Inflicted privation, 
The verdict must often be 

" Wilful starvation." 



74 VICTUALS AND DRINK. 

Since there are men and women 
Would force one to think 

They choose to live only 
On victuals and drink. 

O restless, and craving, 

Unsatisfied hearts, 
Whence never the vulture 

Of hunger departs ! 
How long on the husks 

Of your life will ye feed, 
Ignoring the soul, 

And her famishing need ? 

Bethink you, when lulled 
In your shallow content, 

'T was to Lazarus only 
The angels were sent ; 



VICTUALS AND DRINK. 75 

And 't is he to whose lips 

But earth's ashes are given, 
For whom the full banquet 
Is gathered in heaven ! 



COBWEBS AND BROOMS. 



" There was an old woman 

Tossed up in a blanket, 
Seventeen times as high as the moon ; 

What she did there 

I cannot tell you, 
But in her hand she carried a broom. 

Old woman, old woman, 

Old woman, said I, 
O whither, O whither, O whither so high? 

To sweep the cobwebs 
Off the sky, 
And I '11 be back again, by and by." 

Mind you, she wore no wings, 
That she might truly soar ; no time was lost 



COBWEBS AND BROOMS. 77 

In growing such unnecessary things ; 
But blindly, in a blanket, she was tost I 



Spasmodically, too ! 
'T was not enough that she should reach 
the moon ; 
But seventeen times the distance she must 
do, 
Lest, peradventure, she get back too 
soon. 



That emblematic broom ! 
Besom of mad Reform, uplifted high, 
That, to reach cobwebs, would precipitate 
doom, 
And sweep down thunderbolts from out 
the sky ! 



78 COBWEBS AND BROOMS. 

Doubtless, no rubbish lay 
About her door, — no work was there to 
do, — 
That through the astonished aisles of Night 
and Day, 
She took her valorous flight in quest of 
new! 

Lo ! at her little broom 
The great stars laugh, as on, their wheels 
of fire 
They go, dispersing the eternal gloom, 
And shake Time's dust from off each 
blazing tire ! 



BLACK SPIDEKS. 



" Little Miss Muffet 
Sat on a tuffet, 
Eating curds and whey : 

There came a black spider, 
And sat down beside her, 
And frightened Miss Muffet away." 

To all mortal blisses, 

From comfits to kisses, 
There 's sure to be something by way of 
alloy; 

Each new expectation 

Brings fresh aggravation, 
And a doubtful amalgam 's the best of our 

joy- 



80 BLACK SPIDERS. 

You may sit on your tuffet ; 
Yes, — cushion and stuff it ; 
And provide what you please, if you don't 
fancy whey; 
But before you can eat it, 
There '11 be — I repeat it — 
Some sort of black spider to come in the 
way. 



DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY. 



" Daffy-down-dilly 

Is new come to town, 
With a petticoat green, 

And a bright yellow gown, 
And her little white blossoms 

Are peeping around." 

Now don't you call this 
A most exquisite thing ? 

Don't it give you a thrill 
With the thought of the spring. 

Such as once, in your childhood, 
You felt, when you found 



82 DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY. 

The first yellow buttercups 
Spangling the ground ? 

When the lilac was fresh 

With its glory of leaves, 
And the swallows came fluttering 

Under the eaves ? 
When the bluebird flashed by 

Like a magical thing, 
And you looked for a fairy 

Astride of his wing ? 

When the clear, running water, 

Like tinkling of bells, 
Bore along the bare roadside 

A song of the dells, — 
And the mornings were fresh 

With unfailing delight, 



DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY. 83 

While the sweet summer hush 
Always came with the night ? 

dafly-down-dilly, 

With robings of gold ! 
As our hearts every year 

To your coming unfold, 
And sweet memories stir 

Through the hardening mould, 
We feel how earth's blossomings 

Surely are given 
To keep the soul fresh 

For the spring-time of heaven ! 



BAA, BAA, BLACK SHEEP! 



a Baa, baa, black sheep ! 

Have you any wool ? 
Yes, sir, — no, sir, — 

Three bags full. 
One for my master, 

One for my dame, 
And one for the little boy 

That lives in the lane." 

'T is the same question as of old 5 
And still the doubter saith, 

a Can any good be made to come 
From out of Nazareth ? " 



BAA, BAA, BLACK SHEEP ! 85 

No sheep so black in all the flock, — 

No human heart so bare, — 
But hath some warm and generous stock 

Of kindliness to share. 

It may be treasured secretly 
For dear ones at the hearth ; 

Or be bestowed by stealth along 
The by-ways of the earth ; — 

And though no searching eye may see, 

Nor busy tongue may tell, 
Perchance, where largest love is laid, 

The Master knoweth well ! 



THE TWISTER. 



* A twister, in twisting, would twist him a twist, 
And, twisting his twists, seven twists he doth twist : 
If one twist, in twisting, untwist from the twist, 
The twist, untwisting, untwists the twist." 

A ravelled rainbow overhead 
Lets down to life its varying thread : 
Love's blue, — Joy's gold, — and, fair be- 
tween, 
Hope's shifting light of emerald green j 
With, either side, in deep relief, 
A crimson Pain, — a violet Grief. 



THE TWISTER. 87 

Wouldst thou, amid their gleaming hues, 
Clutch after those, and these refuse ? 
Believe, — as thy beseeching eyes 
Follow their lines, and sound the skies, — 
There, where the fadeless glories shine, 
An unseen angel twists the twine. 

And be thou sure, what tint soe'er 
The broken rays beneath may wear, 
It needs them all, that, broad and white, 
God's love may weave the perfect light ! 



FANTASY, 



u I have a little sister, 

They call her peep, peep ; 
She wades through the water, 

Deep, deep, deep ; 
She climbs up the mountains, 

High, high, high ; 
My poor little sister, 

She has but one eye ! " 

Rough Common Sense doth here confess 
Her kinship to Imagination ; 

Betraying also, I should guess, 
Some little pride in the relation. 



FANTASY. 89 

For even while vexed, and puzzled too, 
By the vagaries of the latter, — 

Fearful what next the child may do, — 
She looks with loving wonder at her. 

Plain Sense keeps ever to the road 
That 's beaten down and daily trod ; 
While Fancy fords the rivers wide, 
And scrambles up the mountain-side: 
By which exploits she 's always getting 
Either a tumble or a wetting. 

While simple Sense looks straight before, 
Fancy a peeps " further, and sees more ; 
And yet, if left to walk alone, 

May chance, like most long-sighted people, 
To trip her foot against a stone 

While gazing at a distant steeple. 



90 FANTASY. 

Nay, worse ! with all her grace erratic, 

And feats aerial and aquatic. 

Her flights sublime, and moods ecstatic, 

She of the vision wild and high 

Hath but a solitary eye ! 

And, — not to quote the Scripture, which 

Forebodes the falling in the ditch, — 

Doubtless by following such a guide 

Blindly, in all her wanderings wide, 

The world, at best, would get o' one side. 

What then ? To rid us of our doubt 

Is there no other thing to do 
But we must turn poor Fancy out, 

And only downright Fact pursue ? 

Ah, see you not, bewildered man ! 
The heavenly beauty of the plan ? 



FANTASY. 91 

'T was so ordained, in counsels high, 

To give to sweet Imagination 
A single deep and glorious eye ; 

But then 't was meant, in compensation, 
That Common Sense, with optics keen, — 
As maid of honor to a queen, — 
On her blind side should always stay. 
And keep her in the middle way. 



JINGLING AND JANGLING. 



" Little Jack Jingle 
Used to live single. 
But when he got tired 

Of that kind of life, 
He left off being single, 

And lived with his wife." 

Your period 's pointed, most excellent Moth- 
er ! 

Pray what did he do when he tired of the 
other ? 

For a man so deplorably prone to ennui 

But a queer sort of husband is likely to be. 



JINGLING AND JANGLING. 93 

The fatigue might recur, — and, in case it 

should be so, 
Why not take a wife on a limited lease, O ? 
Grant the privilege, pray, to his idiosyn- 
crasy, — 
Some natures won't bear to be too closely 

pinned, you see, — 
And, at worst, the poor Benedict might 

advertise, 
When weary, at length, of the light of his 

eyes,— 
Or failing to find her, it may be, in salt, — 
"Disposed of, indeed, for no manner of 

fault," 
(To borrow a figure of speech from the 

mart,) 
"But because the late owner has taken a 

start!" 



94 JINGLING AND JANGLING. 

I believe once before you have cautiously 

said 
Something quite as concise on this delicate 

head, 
When distantly hinting at " needles and 

pins/' 
And that a when a man marries, his trouble 

begins " ; 
But I don't recollect that you ever pretend 
To prophesy anything as to the end, 

Unless we may learn it of Peter, — the 

bumpkin, 
Renowned for naught else but his eating 

of pumpkin ; 
Whose wife — I don't see how he happened 

to get her — 
Had a taste, very likely, for things that 

were better : 



JINGLING AND JANGLING. 95 

Since, fearing to lose her, at last it be- 
fell 

He bethought him of shutting her up in a 
shell ; 

By which brilliant contrivance she kept very 
well! 

What he did with her next, the old rhyme 
does n't say, 

But she seems to be somehow got out of 
the way, 

For the ill-fated Peter was wedded once 
more, 

To find his bewilderment worse than be- 
fore ; 

If the first for her spouse had but small 
predilection, 

Now 'twas his turn, alas! to fall short in 
affection. 



96 JINGLING AND JANGLING. 

And how do you think that he conquered 
the evil? 

Why, simply by lifting himself to her level ; 

By leaving his pumpkins, and learning to 
spell, 

He came, saith the story, to love her right 
well; 

And the mythical memoir its moral con- 
trives 

For the lasting instruction of husbands 
and wiveSo 



THE OLD WOMAN OF SUREEY. 



u There was an old woman in Surrey, 
Who was morn, noon, and night in a hurry ; 

Called her husband a fool, 

Drove the children to school, 
The worrying old woman of Surrey." 

'T was an ancient earldom over the sea, 

And it must be now as it used to be ; 

Yet the sketch is of one 1 have known 

before, — 
The very old woman that lives next door. 



98 THE OLD WOMAN OF SURREY. 

One thing is unquestionable, — she 's 

a smart/' — 
As they say of an apple that 's rather tart ; 
For her nearest friends, I think, would 

allow her 
To be, at her best, but a u pleasant sour." 

There 's a certain electrical atmosphere 
That you feel beforehand, when she 's near : 
And — unless you 've a wonderful deal of 

pluck — 
A shrinking fear that you might be 

« struck." 

She moves with such a bustle and rush, — 

Such an elemental stir and crush, 

As makes the branches bend and fall 

In the breeze that blows up a thunder-squalL 



THE OLD WOMAN OF SURREY. 99 

And yet, it is only her endless " hurry " ; 
She 's not so bad if she would n't " worry/' 
And, for all the worlds that she has to make, 
If the six clays' time she 'd only take. 

You may talk about Surrey, or Devon, or 

Kent, 
But I doubt if a special location was meant ; 
It may sound severe, — but it seems to me 
That a u representative " woman was she ; 

And that here and there you may chance 

to trace 
Some specimens extant of the race : 
For a slip of the stock, as I 've a notion, 
Somehow "in the Mayflower" crossed the 

ocean, 



PICKLE PEPPEES. 



u Peter Piper picked a peck of pickle peppers ; 

And a peck of pickle peppers Peter Piper picked ; 
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickle peppers 
Where's the peck of pickle peppers Peter Piper 
picked?" 

Poor Peter toiled his life away, 

That afterward the world might say 

" Where is the peck of peppers he 

Did gather so industriously ? " 

The peppers are embalmed in metre, — 

But who, alas ! inquires for Peter ? 



PICKLE PEPPERS. 10l 

In sun or storm, by night and day, 
Scant time for sleep, and none for play, 
Still the poor fool did nothing reck, 
If only he might pick his peck : 
And what result from all hath sprung, 
But just to bite somebody's tongue ? 
Or, — Lady Fortune playing fickle, — 
Get some one in a precious pickle ? 



HUMPTY DUMPTY. 



a Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall : 
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall : 
Not all the king's horses nor all the king's men 
Could set Humpty Dumpty up again." 

Full many a project that never was hatched 

Falls down, and gets shattered beyond be- 
ing patched ; 

And luckily, too ! for if all came to chick- 
ens, 

Then things without feathers misdit cro to 
the dickens. 



HUMPTY DUMPTY. 103 

If each restless unit that moves among men 
Might climb to a place with the privileged 

" ten," 
Pray tell us where all the commotion would 

stop ! 
Must the whole pan of milk, forsooth, rise 

to the top ? 

If always the statesman attained to his hopes, 
And grasped the great helm, who would 

stand by the ropes ? 
Or if all dainty fingers their duties might 

choose, 
Who would wash up the dishes, and polish 

the shoes ? 

Suppose every aspirant writing a book 
Contrived to get published, by hook or by 
crook ; 



104 HUMPTY DUMPTY. 

Geologists then of a later creation 

Would be startled, I fancy, to find a forma< 

tion 
Proving how the poor world did most wo- 

fully sink 
Beneath mountains of paper, and oceans of 

ink ! 

Or even suppose all the women were mar- 
ried ; 

By whom would superfluous babies be car- 
ried ? 

Where would be the good aunts that should 
knit all the stockings ? 

Or nurses, to do up the singings and rock- 
ings ? 

Wise spinsters, to lay down their wonderful 
rules, 



HUMPTY DUMPTY. 105 

And with theories rare to enlighten the 

fools, — 
Or to look after orphans, and primary 

schools ? 

No ! Failure 's a part of the infinite plan ; 
Who finds that he can't, must give way to 

who can ; 
And as one and another drops out of the 

race, 
Each stumbles at last to his suitable place. 

So the great scheme works on, — though, 
like eggs from the wall, 

Little single designs to such ruin may fall, 

That not all the world's might, of its horses 
or men, 

Could set their crushed hopes at the sum- 
mit again. 



SUNDAY AND MONDAY. 



" As Tommy Snooks and Bessy Brooks 
Were walking out one Sunday, 
Says Tommy Snooks to Bessy Brooks, 
To-morrow will be Monday." 

No doubt you are smiling at such a remark, 

And thinking poor Snooks but a pitiful 
spark ; 

But the words have a meaning, worth look- 
ing for, too, 

As I'll presently try and demonstrate for 
you. 



SUNDAJ AND MONDAY, 107 

'Twas a pity, indeed, in that moment of 
leisure, 

To dampen poor Bessy's hebdomadal pleas- 
ure, 

Suggesting that close on the beautiful Sun- 
day 

Must come all the common-place horrors 
of Monday ; 

That he to his toiling, and she to her 

tub, 
Must turn, and take up with another week's 

rub; 
Yet a truth for us all, since the shade of 

the real 
Follows fast on the track of each sunn^ 

ideal. 



108 SUNDAY AND MONDAY. 

Now and then we may pause on Life's 

pleasant oases ; 
But between lie the desert's grim, desolate 

spaces ; 
And our feet, with all patience, must trav- 
erse them still, 
Reaching forward to blessing, through 

bearing of ill. 

Yet for Snooks and his Bessy, — for me 

and for you, — 
Comes a Saturday night when the wage 

will be due ; 
• And we '11 say to each other, in ecstasy, 

one day, 
ft To-morrow — the endless to-morrow — is 

Sunday ! " 



THE MAD HORSE. 



14 There was a mad man, 

And he had a mad wife. 
And the children were mad beside ; 

So on a mad horse 

They all of them got, 
And madly away did ride." 

Sagacious Goose! Fresh wonders yet! 
What Spell had power to help you get 
Those seven-leagued spectacles, that see 
Down to the nineteenth century? 

re The mad world, and his madder wife ! " 
That, in your earlier time of life, — 
Though quite demented now, 't is plain, - 
Were sober, grave, and almost sane ! 

109 



110 THE MAD HORSE, 

And all the tribes, a motley brood 
Sprung into being since the flood, 
With their hereditary bent 
To cerebral bewilderment! 

If some old ghost, precise and slow, 
Who died a hundred years ago, — 
Always supposing he himself 
Has lain, meanwhile, upon the shelf, — 

Things as they are might only see, 
Surely his inference would be 
A simultaneous bursting out 
Of lunacy the earth about. 

R The world is mad; his wife is mad; 

The rising generation 's madder; " 
And when a charter can be had, 

Up to the moon they '11 build a ladder ! 



THE MAD HORSE. Ill 

They caught a horse awhile ago, — 

They called him Steam, — but he was 

slow; 
After the lightning then they ran, 
Caught him, — and now they drive the 

span! —1860. 

P. S. — 1870. 
The great Pacific railroad 's done; 
They Ve poured two oceans into one; 
Two shores with whispering cable tied, 
And cut a path for ships to ride, 
Where camel-tracks had used to be* 
Through desert sands, from sea to sea. 

Moon, quoth I? Faith, they 've made a 

moon! 
Leastwise, they Ve thought one; 1 and so 

soon 

1 E. E. Hale's Brick Moon: likewise Jules Verne's Pro- 
iectilc. 



112 THE MAD HORSE. 

Upon man's whim his strqke succeeds, 
And turns his dreams into his deeds, 
Look sharply ! for with word and blow, 
They '11 swing one up before you know ! 

k 882. 

Why put a double P. S. in ? 

'T would need a daily bulletin 

To tell how fast the craze goes on, 

With Keeley and with Edison ; 

With things to eat, and things to travel, - 

Bicycles spinning o'er the gravel, — 

Great guns to simplify the fights, — 

Suns outshone with electric lighto, -- 

The whisper in the closet stirred 

In sooth across the housetops heard, 

And when the airy tangle tires 

Earth to be veined with throbbing wires. 



THE MAD HORSE. 113 

Women to physic and to preach, 
And help the national bird to screech ; 
One man on Wall-Street curb to stand, 
With twenty railroads in his hand ; 
Schools for the mass, effecting this, 
That all may know what most must miss ! 
Ah, who so sage that can pretend 
To pre-sage of such tale the end ? 

I press the limit of my page ; 
So, haply, may this frantic age 1 



ROSES AJND DIAMONDS. 



u Little girl, little girl, where have you been ? 
Gathering roses to give to the queen. 
Little girl, little girl, what gave she you ? 
She gave me a diamond as big as my shoe." 

If the old could share with the young 
again } — 

If worn could borrow of new, — 
If faces could wear their roses again, 

And hearts be sweetened with dew, — 
If a child might bring the joy of a child, 

And give it to us to-day, — 

What glory of gem, or what weight of gold 

Would we think too precious to pay ? 

114 



rf^^i/ 











^i^O^;< 



JACK HOKOE. 



M Little Jack Horner 

Sat in a corner 
Eating a Christmas Pie : 

He put in his thumb, 

And pulled out a plum, 
And said, ■ What a great boy am I ! ,w 

Ah, the world hath many a Horner, 

Who, seated in his corner, 
Finds a Christmas Pie provided for his 
thumb : 

And cries out with exultation, 

When successful exploration 
Doth discover the predestinated plum ! 

115 



116 JACK HORNER. 

Little Jack outgrows his tier, 

And becometh John, Esquire; 
And he finds a monstrous pasty ready made. 

Stuffed with stocks and bonds and bales, 

Gold, currencies and sales, 
And all the mixed ingredients of Trade. 

And again it is his luck 

To be just in time to pluck, 
By a clever w operation," from the pie 

An unexpected "plum"; 

So he glorifies his thumb, 
And says, proudly, w What a mighty man 
ami!" 

Or perchance, to Science turning, 
And with weary labor learning 
All the formulas and phrases that oppress 
her, — 



JACK HORNER. 117 

For the fruit of others 9 baking 
So a fresh diploma taking, 
Comes he forth, a full accredited Profes- 
sor! 

Or he 's not too nice to mix 

In the dish of politics ; 
And the dignity of office he puts on; 

And he feels as big again 

As a dozen nobler men, 
While he writes himself the Honorable 
John! 

Ah, me, for the poor nation! 
In her hour of desperation 
Her worst foe is that unsparing Horner- 
Thumb! 
To which War, and Death, and Hate, 
Right, Policy, and State, 
Are but pies wherefrom his greed may 
grasp a plum! 



118 JACK HORNER. 

Oh, the work was fair and true, 

But 't is riddled through and through, 
And plundered of its glories everywhere; 

And before men's cheated eyes 

Doth the robber triumph rise 
And magnify itself in all the air. 

Why, if even a good man dies, 

And is welcomed to the skies 
In the glorious resurrection of the jast, 

They must ruffle it below 

With some vain and wretched show, 
To make each his little mud-pie of the dust! 

Shall we hint at Lady-Horners, 
Who in their exclusive corners 
Think the world is only made of upper* 

crust? • 

Who in the queer mince-pie 
That we call Society, 
Do their dainty fingers delicately thrust; 



JACK HOENER. 119 

Till, if it come to pass, 
In the spiced and sugared mass, 
One should compass, — don't they call it 
so? — a catch j 
By the gratulation given 
It would seem the very heaven 
Had outdone itself in making such a 
match ! 

Or the Woman-Horner, now, 
Who is raising such a row 
To prove that Jack 's no bigger boy than 
Jill; 
And that she wo n't sit by 
"With her little saucer pie, 
While he from the Great Pasty picks his 
fill. 

Jealous-wild to be a sharer 

In the fruit she thinks the fairer, 



120 JACK HORNER. 

Flings by all for the s.wift gaining of her 
wish; 
Not discerning in her blindness, 
How a tender Loving-Kindness 
Hid the best things in her own rejected 
dish! 

O, the world keeps Christmas Day 

In a queer, perpetual way; 
Shouting always, "What a great big boy 
ami!" 

Yet how many of the crowd 

Thus vociferating loud, 
And their honors or pretensions lifting 
high, 

Have really, more than Jack, 

With their boldness or their knack, 
Had a finger in the making of the Pie ? 



INTY, MI^TY. 



44 Inty, minty, 

Cutey, corn ! 
Apple-seed, 

Apple-thorn ! 
Wire, brier, 

Limber lock ; 
Seven geese 

In a flock, 
Sit and sing, by the spring $ 
O-u-t, out, and in again." 

Inklings and meanings, 
"Whispers and hints; 

Sprinklings and gleanings f 
Shimmers and glints. 

121 



122 INTY, MESTTY. 

That 's how the light comes 
Down from the skies ; 

That 's how the beauty 
Is born to our eyes. 



The seed is within, 

And the thorn is without: 
Nature's sweet secret 

Is guarded about. 
Yet briers are slender, 

Locks are but slight, 
To touch of a genius 

That searches with light, 

"White by the fountain 
Sit the calm seven; 

Unto their joyance 
Its music is given. 



ESTTY, MINTY. 123 

The world looketh on, 
And still wonders in vain, 

As they go out and in, 
And find pasture * gam. 



DOUBLES AND BUBBLES. 



" Hey, rub-a-dub ! 

Three maids in a tub ! 
And who do you think was there ? 

The butcher, the baker, 

The candlestick-maker, 
And all of them gone to the fair." 

Strong hands are in the washing-tubs; 

Gay heads, the labor scorning, 
Make holiday between the rubs, 

And sport of Monday morning. 

Three maids? That 's your arithmetic. 

The child that met the poet 

Would still to her own counting stick: 

""We 're seven; I surely know it! " 

124 



DOUBLES AND BUBBLES. 125 

The boatman ferried over three 

Across the haunted river; 
And only guessed it by his fee, 

And wondered at the giver. 

And Betsey, Jane, and Mary Ann, — 
No more your sense discovers? 

Well, rub your insight if you can, 
And reckon up the lovers! 

Count Jane with her stout cleaver knight, 

And Betsey with the baker; 
And Mary Ann in dreamy light 

Beside the candle-maker. 

Yet of the six no soul is there, 

For all your wakened vision ! 
Tn the charmed circle of the Pair 

They walk their Fields Elysian! 



126 DOUBLES AND BUBBLES. 

The work goes on by board and bench, — 
Hard tax of human sinning, — 

But hearts thro' labor-chinks still wrench 
Some joy of their beginning. 

In the close limit that confines 

Our getting and our giving, 
Unless we read between the lines, 

"What should we do with living 1 ? 



FUNEKAL HOLIDAY. 



"Ding, dong, bell, 
The cat's in the well ! 
Who put her in ? Little John Green . 
Who pulled her out ? Great John Stout ! * 

There was never a drama of sorrow 
But good folks might be found, I 'm afraid, 

Who a queer satisfaction could borrow 
From the parts of importance they played. 

There is war for four years in the nation : 
There are havoc and panic abroad : 

Comes a tempest; a wild conflagration: 
Great souls go up home to their God. 

127 



128 FUNERAL HOLIDAY. 

How the tall I's spring thick in the spell- 
ing!— 

I knew, or I saw, or I said ! — 
How the small ones turn out to the swelling 

Each splendor of final parade! 

How many are left, we may wonder, 
Heart-mournful for that which befell ? 

How many would wish back the blunder 
When the Cat has got into the Well ! 

Nay, more; if with infinite bother 
And peril, poor Puss is got out, 

Somehow, one boy seems famous as t' other, 
John Green is as big as John Stout! 

See, now! let me tell you a story 

Of something which happened in sooth ; 

That shows with how fearless a glory 
The children and simple speak truth. 



FUNERAL HOLIDAY. 12!) 

Biddy came to her mistress refulgent; 

A whole sunrise of smiles on her face; 
With w M'am, could ye be so indulgent 

Jist to shpare me the day, if ye plase? 

* It 's me cousin that 's dead, — Kate 
M'Gawtherin, — 
Was married to Barnaby Roach; 
An' I 'd want, — but I hates to be both- 
ering — 
Three shillings to pay for the coach I " 

And so we were minus our dinners; 

And all that deplorable day 
We fasted, like penitent sinners, 

While Biddy the cook was away. 

But she came when the sunset was gleam* 
ing; 

And her story she gleefully told; 
Disdaining all dolorous seeming, 

In a way that was good to behold. 



130 FUNERAL HOLIDAY. 

Each loving and sad recollection 
Of the late Mrs. Barnaby Roach 

Quite absorbed in the single reflection 
That she w wint wid himseP in the coach ! w 

K For he thrated me, faith, like a lady, 
An' he paid me me fare, an' ahl; 

A.n' he tould me that I, Bridget Brady, 
"Was the charm of the funeral 1" 



DISROBED. 



u There was a little woman, as I 've heard tell, 
She went to market her eggs for to sell : 
She went to market all on a market day, 
And she fell asleep on the king's highway 

44 There came a little peddler, his name was Stout; 
He cut off her petticoats round about : 
He cut off her petticoats up to her knees, 
And the poor little woman began for to freeze. 

"She began to shiver, and she began to cry, 
Lawk-a-mercy on me ! sure it is n't I " 
But if it be I, as I think it ought to be, 
I Ve got a little dog at home, and he knows me!" 

I think of a poor, tired Soul, 

That has trodden, up and down, 

The tradeways of this busy life, 

To and from its market town, 

131 



132 DISROBED. 

Till, traffic and toil all past, 
At the silent close of the day, 

She lies down, weary and worn, at last, 
On the king's highway; — 

The highway that brings all home, 

Never a one left out; — 
And in her sleep doth a Stranger corae 

Who cuts her garments about. 
Cuts the life-tatters away, 

All the old rags and the stain; 
And leaves the Soul 'twixt her night and 
day, 

To waken again. 

Slowly she wakens, and strange; 

Strange and scared she doth seem ; 
Marvelling at the mystical change 

Come over her in her dream. 



DISROBED. 133 

ff Where is my life? " she cries, 

w That which I knew me by? 
Something is here in an unknown guise: 

Can it be I? 



* I wonder if anything is : 

Or if I am anything: 
Did ever a Soul come bare as this 

From its earthward marketing? 
Let me think down into the past; 

Bethink me hard in the cold; 
Find me something to stand by fast; 

Something to hold ! " 



She thinks away back to the morning, 
To something she loved and knew; 

And over her doubt comes dawning 
Sense of the dear and true. 



134 DISROBED. 

Pf I do n't know if it be I," she sighs; 

K But if after all it be, 
There 's a little heart at home in the skies, 

And he '11 know me! " 



JACK AND JILL. 



** Jack and Jill 

Went up the hill, 
To draw a pail of water : 

Jack fell down 

And broke his crown, 
And Jill came tumbling after." 

Jack and Jill went up the hill, 

When the world was young, together. 
Jack and Jill went up the hill, 

In Eden ways and weather. 
She to seek out blessed springs, 

He to bear the burden : 
Nature their sole choice of things, 

Love their only guerdon. 
That was all the simple creatures knew. 

135 



136 JACK ASTD JILL. 

Jack and Jill come down the hill, 

In the world's full years, together. 
Jack and Jill come down the hill, 

And there is stormy weather. 
J T is all about the pail, you see ; 

The sweet springs are behind them : 
Empty-handed seemeth she 

Who only helped to find them. 

Jill would like to swing a bucket, to<x 

<«* 

O'er the hillside coming down, 

Eagerly and proudly, 
Sparkling trophies to the town 

To bear, she clamors loudly. 
But, in face of all the town, 

Challenging its laughter, 
Many a Jack comes tumbling down. 

Shall the Jills come after? 
Is that what the women want to do? 



JACK AND JILL. 137 

Listen ! When on heights of life 

Hidden pools He planted, 
God to Adam and his wife 

"Wise division granted. 
Gave his son the pitcher broad 

For wealth and weight of water; 
But the quick divining-rod 

Confided to his daughter. 
Ah, if men arid women only knew! 



CASUS BELLI. 



Impromptu, July, 1870. 



11 The sow came in with the saddle; 
The little pig rocked the cradle ; 
The dish jumped up on the table 
To see the pot swallow the ladle ; 
The spit that stood behind the door 
Threw the pudding-stick on the floor, 
* Odsplut ! ' said the gridiron, 

Can't you agree ? 
I'm the head constable, 
Bring 'em to me.' " 

Spain came in with an empty throne; 
The little prince rocked his German cradle. 
"No, no," he said; 
And he shook his head; 

* I am well content to be let alone." 

138 



CASUS BELLI. 130 

All the dishes on pantry-ledge 

And shelf, and table, were up on edge, 

To see how the Pot, 

Simmering hot, 
Would foam at the dip of the threatening 
ladle, 

Nothing befell for a minute or so 
(Nobody chose to be first, you know) , 
Till the royal spit, with an angry frown, 
Threw a little pudding-stick down. 
* f Odsplut! " shouts Emperor Gridiron, 

Hissing for a broil, 
" Those folks that stand behind the door 

Are getting up a coil ! 
1 Ve red Fire panting at my feet; 

I thought how things would be I 
I 'm creation's constable, 

Bring the world to me ! " 



THE DAYS THAT ARE LONG. 



M I'll sing you a song 

Of the days that are long ; 
Of the woodcock and the sparrow ; 

Of the little dog 

That burnt his tail, 
And he shall be whipt to-morrow ." 

That is the song the world sings 

Of the long bright days : 
That is the way she evens things, 

Portions, and pays. 

The dog that let his tail burn, 

Proving one pain, 
Shall be whipt next day, that he may learn 



Wisdom again. 



140 



THE DAYS THAT ARE LONG. 141 

That is the song the world sings 

To sin and sorrow: 
Over her limit her hard lash flings 

Into God's morrow. 



Measures His dear divine grace 

In compass narrow : 
Counts for nothing the infinite days ; 

Forgets the sparrow. 

The world sings only a half song; 

Leaves our hearts sore : 
Heaven, in the time that is tender and long, 

"Will sing us more. 



THREESCOKE AND TEN. 



"How many miles to Babylon P 
Threescore and ten. 
Can I get there by candle-light P 
Yes, and back again." 

How many miles of the weary way? 

Threescore miles and ten. 
Where shall I be at the end of the day? 

You shall be back again. 

You shall prove it all in the lifelong round; 

The joy, and the pain and the sinning; 
A.nd at candle-light your soul shall be found 

Back — at its new beginning. 

142 



THREESCORE ANT> TEN. 143 

Down in his grave the old man lies; 

In from the earthward wild, 
At the open door of Paradise 

Enters a little child. 



TWO LITTLE BLAuKBlEDS 



" Two little blackbirds sat upon a stone ; 
One flew away, and then there was one ; 
The other flew after and then there was none 
So the poor stone was left all alone." 

One of these little birds back again flew ; 
The other came after, and then there were two ; 
Says one to the other, pray, how do you do ? 
Very well, thank you, and, pray, how are you ? 

A stone is the barest fact : 

But living and wonderful things 

Gather to earthly occasion and act 

With folded or parting wings. 

144 



TWO LITTLE BLACKBIRDS. 145 

Birds of the air are they, — 

Our knowledge, our thought, our love, — 
A.nd the ethers in which they win their way 

Are breaths of the heaven above- 
Some place and point of the hour, — 

The same little fact for two, — 
Who knoweth the lasting wonder and power 

It holdeth for me and you ; 

Away in the long-past years, 

With trifle of merest chance, 
Keeping, through losing, and blinding, and 
tears, 

The key of its circumstance ? 

I, left to the narrowed earth, — 
You into the great heaven gone, — 



146 TWO LITTLE BLACKBIRDS. 

And things of our sharing, - — our work, our 
mirth, — 
So lonely to brood upon ! 

Yet ever, when thought recurs, 

With hardly a reckoning why, 
To some old, small memory, straightway stirs 

That sound of wings in the sky ; 

And like birds to a resting-place, — 
No longer one, but the two, — 

Alight the remembrances, face to f ace, 
Alive between me and you ; 

And heaven grows real and dear, 
And earth widens up to heaven ; 

And all that had vanished, and stayed so 
near, 
In one marvellous glimpse is given. 



TWO LITTLE BLACKBIRDS. 147 

For memory is return : 

Ourselves are what we have been : 
And what we have been together, we learn 

Our life doth continue in. 

Spread, then, the angel wings ! 

I lose you not as you go ; 
Since heart finds heart in the uttermost 
things 

Two thoughts may revisit so ! 



TAFFY. 



" Taffy was a Welshman, 

Taffy was a thief ; 
Taffy came to my house 

And stole a piece of beef * 
I went to Taffy's house, 

Taffy was n't at home ; 
Taffy came to my house 

And stole a marrow bone . 
I went to Taffy's house, 

Taffy was in bed ; 
I took the marrow bone, . 

And beat about his head." 

Old Time came unto my house of clay, 

And pilfered its pride of flesh away : 

148 



TAFFY. 149 

I knocked at the doors of the years in vain 
To ask for its goodliness again. 

Old Time came unto me yet once more, 
For crueller theft than he thieved before ; 
Stealing the very marrow and bone 
That the strength of my life was builded on. 

Old Time ! At last thou shalt lie in thy bed, 
And thy years and days be buried and 

dead ; 
And the strength of the life to come shall 

be 
[n the great revenge I will have of thee ! 



MARGERY DAW. 



u See, saw ! Margery Daw 
Sold her bed, and lay upon straw ; 
Sold her straw, and lay upon dirt ; 
Was n't she a good-for-naught ? " 

Margery Daw ! Mistress Margery Daw ! 
Not yours the sole lapse that the world ever 

saw ! 
In precisely such willful gradation 

1 fear me religion and morals and law 

Go down, step by step, to the dirt through 
the straw, 
In the church and the mart and the na- 
tion. 

150 



MARGERY DAW. 151 

A. yielding of that, and a dropping of this, — 
(" With straw fresh and plenty, pray what 

is amiss ? 
The bed may be wider and cleaner ; " ) 
Ah, that 's as you make it, and shake it, 

you '11 find ; 
And with slumber forgetful, and luxury 

blind, 
What you rest in grows meaner and 

meaner. 

'In righteousness walking/' the Scripture 

verse goes, — 
6 They rest in their beds," and find blessed 
repose ; 
And the beautiful contrary diction 
Is neither Isaiah's mistake, nor a word 
At random declared, to be scoffingly heard, 
But a truth in the freedom of fiction. 



152 MARGEKY DAW. 

Margery Daw ! Mistress Margery Daw ! 
It shall always be gospel, what always was 

law : 
Some bed-making none may dispense 

with, — 
Tn dust of the earth, or in heart of the 

heaven, — 
And to soul of mankind shall no Sabbath be 

given 
Save that it lies down and contents with. 



TROUBLED WITH RATS 



" Pretty John Watts, 
We are troubled with rats ; 

Will you drive them out of the house ? 
There are mice, too, in plenty, 
Who feast in the pantry ; 
But let them stay, 
And nibble away ; 

What harm in a little brown mouse ? n 



A curious puzzle haunts 

The brain of the commentator, 

Whether John Watts, perchance, 

Be preacher or legislator 
153 



154 TROUBLED WITH RATS. 

We 're troubled with rats, we cry : 
And who shall drive out the vermin ? 

Let senate and pulpit try : 

Urge edict, and scourge with sermon. 

They steal, they riot, they slay : 
They are noisy, they are noisome : 

Mice in the pantry, you say ? 

Ah, those little things are toysome ! 

They only nibble, you see ; 

They only frolic and scamper : 
What harm can it possibly be 

A little brown mouse to pamper ? 

They 're not of the race, John Watts ! 
From them we need no protection ; 



TROUBLED WITH RATS. 155 

They will never develop to rats, 
By survival or selection. 

Ajid yet, John Watts ! John Watts ! 

Whether in closet or highway, 
I doubt me that mice and rats 

Are akin, in some sort of sly way ; 

And as long as the world sins on, 
That the odds will be but a quibble 

Between the deeds that are done 
By brutes that devour — or nibble ! 



LITTLE ROBIN REDBREAST. 



Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree ; 
Up went the pussy-cat, down came he : 
Down came the pussy-cat, away Robin ran ; 
Says little Robin Redbreast, catch me if you can ! 

Little Robin Redbreast hopped upon a spade ; 
Pussy-cat jumped after him, and then he was afraid ; 
Little Robin chirped and sung, and what did pussy say 
Pussy said, Me-ow ! Me-ow ! and Robin flew away." 

Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree* 

Heartsome and glad ; 

The cheer of life, in the green of life, what 

ever so blithe may be ? 

Fol de rol, de rol, lad ! 
156 



LITTLE ROBIN REDBREAST. 157 

Up went the pussy-cat, and down came 
he, — 
Woe befall for the claws, lad ! 
The care of life, and the fear of life, it 
creepeth so stealthily, — 
So threatsome and sad ! 
And woe befall for the claws, lad ! 

Down came the pussy-cat, away Robin 
ran, 

In his scarlet clad ; 
There may be a day for running away, for 
redcoated bird or man. 
Fol de rol, de rol, lad ! 
Says little Robin Redbreast, Catch me if 
you can ! 
Two merry legs to the four, lad ! 



158 LITTLE ROBIN KEDBREAST. 

A quick, bold pair, that scampers fair, is 
part of the saving plan, 
And a match for the pad 
Aprowl on the pitiless four, lad ! 

Little Eobin Redbreast hopped upon a 
spade ; 

This is n't so bad ! 
All of leafy green, and for joy, I ween, the 
world was never made. 
Fol de rol, de rol, lad ! 
Pussy-cat jumped after him, and then he 
was afraid ; 
Ah, what 's the use of all, lad ? 
There 's death in our work, there s fear to 
lurk in the places where we played. 
What help 's to be had ? 
And what is the use of all, lad ? 



LITTLE ROBIN REDBREAST. 159 

Little Robin chirped and sung, the same 
brave roundelay ; 

There 's room to be glad ! 
There 's always a lighj behind the night ; 
there 's never a will but a way ; 
Fol de rol, de rol, lad ! 
Little Robin chirped and sung, and what did 
pussy say ? 
Creeping, and stretching the claws, lad ? 
Pussy said, O-w ! P-shaw ! Me-ow ! for 
Robin was off and away. 
There 's wings to be had ! 
And fol de rol for the claws, lad ! 



WHEELBARROW BROKE. 



When I was a bachelor, I lived by myself, 
And all the bread and cheese I got I put upon a shelf. 
The rats and the mice, they made such a strife, 
I was forced to go to London to get me a wife. 

The streets were so broad, and the lanes were so nar 

row 
I was forced to bring my wife home in a wheelbarrow. 
The wheelbarrow broke, and my wife had a fall, 
Down came wheelbarrow, wife, and all." 

Of course it did. Whatever could you pos- 
sibly expect, sir ? 
You chose a quite peculiar style to cherish 

and protect, sir ! 

160 



WHEELBARROW BROKE. 161 

Your resource in emergency commands my 

admiration, 
But I wonder was it want — or excess — of 

calculation, 
That the wheelbarrow broke ? 

The one-wheeled way gave out, you say? 
Indeed, I should have guessed so, 

From the very frank preamble of your pre- 
cious manifesto ! 

When all the bread and cheese you got you 
shut up in your closet, 

Driving such single-blessed team, what 
strange amazement was it 
That your wheelbarrow broke ? 

You were managing quite finely till the rats 
and mice got at it, 



162 WHEELBARROW BROKE. 

And forced you to the slow resolve, how- 

e'er you might combat it 
With other prompting, that a wife must be 

your choice of crosses 
In a world of moth and rust and thieves, 

and all provoking losses ? 
Yes, — the wheelbarrow broke. 

When the scramble and the screed began, 

you fain would share your trouble, 
But in no other sense, it seems, arrange for 

going double ; 
The generous thoroughfares of life were too 

wide for your barrow, 
And the single footpath in the lane you 

plodded was too narrow 
For a couple in a yoke. 



WHEELBARROW BROKE. 163 

The old plan was a careful one ; but it could 

never carry 
New needs ; you should have thought of 

that before you thought to marry ; 
And still you strove to push it through, 

with many a frown and grumble, 
Till the poor little wife and all had got a 

dreadful tumble, 
When the wheelbarrow broke. 

Broke midway in the struggle : a providen- 
tial mystery : 

The usual meek accounting-for of such mis- 
handled history : 

As if it were the method of the wisdom and 
the glory 

To run the earth on one wheel, — and each 
small earthly story, — 
Till the wheelbarrow broke ! 



164 WHEELBARROW BROKE. 

Ah, friend ! of God's mechanics you mistake 
the grand solution ; 

On no weak, single centre runs the perfect 
revolution ; 

But one circuit round the sun, — one self- 
circling for the planet, — 

And one divine consent of both, — so first 
the power began it, 
And creation was bespoke. 

Be sure you must in everything waste hope 

and love and labor, 
Moving cheaply by yourself, — nowise 

greatly with your neighbor. 
Cease, then, with such ill-balance in the 

ways of life to wraxle, 
And put an equal-turning wheel on each 

end of your axle, 
Since your wheelbarrow 's broke ! 



THE FOOTPATH WAY 



" Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, 
And merrily jump the stile, O ! 

A merry heart goes all the day, 
Your sad one tires in a mile, O ! n 

Who goes to-day by the footpath way, 
When with ocean leagues the steamships 

P^y, 
And under mountains and over plains 
Runs the level thunder of the trains ? 

Who goes to-day by the footpath way, 

When the very babies despise great A, 

165 



166 THE FOOTPATH WAY. 

And swallow, with supercilious smiles, 
Whole sentences, like young crocodiles ? 

Who goes to-day by the footpath way, 
Waiting for good things until he can pay, 
When with mortgage and loan and instal- 
ment plan, 
Life is let furnished to every man ? 

Who goes to-day by the footpath way, 
When Moses made awful mistakes, they 

say, 
And the story of all that began and is 
Never happened according to Genesis ? 

Who goes to-day by the footpath way, 
Alone and straitened, with care and de 

lay, 



THE FOOTPATH WAY. 107 

When the world, grown wiser by grace of 
God, 

Rolls assured toward heaven on the cause- 
way broad ? 

When things are thus since they must be so, 
And nobody stands by himself, you know, 
And none may jog onward, and none may 

fall 
But by force that prevails in the general ? 

And what are the odds of tear or smile, 
Or whether we merrily leap the stile 
Or tumble helpless, since over we must, 
And the end of all is the " dust to dust ? " 

Well, — take it so ; yet the footpath way 
Doth its line through every thoroughfare 
lay; 



L68 THE FOOTPATH WAY. 

The tramp of the legion may seem to efface, 
But the single treading hath left its trace. 

You may rush by steam with a seven-league 

stride, 
Yet the footpath way 's in the railroad 

ride; 
Each goes his own gait, and clears his own 

stiles, 
And lives by inches, while driven by miles. 

You may scorn your penny, and spend your 

pound, 
No less 't will appear, when the day comes 

round, 
That farthing by farthing the score was 

made, 
And unto the uttermost shall be paid. 



THE FOOTPATH WAY. 169 

And Moses will stand when philosophies 

drop, 
And Huxley and Darwin have shut up 

shop; 
For whatever you jump, and however you 

j°g> 
You can't get away from the decalogue. 

Then with faith and fear in the footpath 

way, 
And with steadfast cheer, trudge on, we 

say; 
For if ever earth into the kingdom rolls, 
T will be by the saving of single souls ! 



UP A TREE. 



u Oh dear, what can the matter be ? 
Two old women got up in an apple-tree : 

One came down, 
And the other stayed up till Saturday." 

I suppose you wonder how it should be 
That two old ladies got up in a tree : 
Did you never chance the exploit to see ? 

Perhaps you have noticed pussy-cat go, 
With a wrathful look, and a way not 

slow, 
And a tail very big, and a back up — 

so _/~V? 

170 



UP A TREE. 171 

Well, that is the type of the thing I mean ; 
And the apple-bearer, since earth was 

green, 
The tree of our trouble hath always been. 

So when " human warious " fails to agree, 
There stands the old stem of iniquity, 
And one or both will be " up a tree." 

Each in her style : some are stately and 

stiff; 
Some hiss and spit, and are up in a whiff ; 
And some hunch along in a moody miff. 

It does n't much matter, however it be ; 
The best of people may get up the tree ; 
The question is, when they '11 come down, 
you see ! 



172 UP A TREE. 

An offenseless one will descend straightway ; 
One half in the wrong for a while may stay ; 
Clear curstness will roost till the judgmenl 
day ! 



THE CROOKED MAN. 



" There was a crooked man, 
And he went a crooked mile ; 
He found a crooked sixpence 
Against a crooked stile : 
He bought a crooked cat, 
Which caught a crooked mouse ; 
And they all lived together 
In a little crooked house." 

Once begin with a crook, 

You '11 go on with a crook ; 

Crooked ways, crooked luck, crooked peo 

pie. 

173 



174 THE CROOKED MAN. 

Crooked eyes, crooked mind, 
Crooked guideposts will find ; 
Yes, a crook in the very church-steeple ! 

The first mile you make 

The initial will take 
For all the long leagues that shall follow : 

Right and left, fork and swerve, 

Any turn that will serve, 
Up and down, betwixt hummock and hol- 
low. 

If you pause at a stile 

Or a fence for a while, 
Some twist must compel or invite you : 

Even sin, I 've a doubt, 

Were it straight out and out, 
Could hardly persuade or delight you. 



TIIE CROOKED MAN. 175 

And a shave, or a bend, 
Or a nick, must commend, 

For you, every quarter and nickel : 
Eight pure from the mint, 
There were no magic in 't 

Your trick-loving finger to tickle. 

Crooked money will buy 

But a crook or a lie, 
Whatever the ware that you deal in ; 

Your position in life, 

Your companions, your wife, 
Or even a playfellow feline. 

And as thief catches thief 
In the common belief, 
Be the creature a cat or a woman, 
The crooked shall still 



176 THE CROOKED MAN. 

Find the crooked at will, 
A.nd you '11 see the old saw sayeth true, man. 

In kin, neighbors, house, 

In a servant or mouse, 
She will always put paw on her likeness : 

The same rule runs through, 

For the false and the true, — 
Straight to straight, and oblique to oblique- 
ness. 

So together, you see, 

As you build, you shall be, 
Every line of the mould in the casting ; 

And a nice little world 

You '11 have made, when you Ve 
curled 
And squirmed to your state everlasting ! 



THE FOUR WINDS. 



44 When the wind is in the east, 
'T is neither good for man nor beast ; 
When the wind is in the north, 
The skillful fisher goes not forth ; 
When the wind is in the south, 
It blows the bait in the fishes' mouth ; 
When the wind is in the west, 
Then 't is at the very best." 

Life, like the earth, to the east doth run, 

Turning her face to the face of the sun. 

The wind that is contrary, as she goes, 

Is always the bitterest wind that blows ; 

Smiting the kiss of the shining away, 

&nd beating backward the beautiful day, 

177 



178 THE FOUR WINDS. 

The wind that comes from the icy pole 
Shutteth up hope in the human soul ; 
Chiding the heart, and forbidding the will, 
And blasting our very beginnings with ill. 
Oh, the wind of the north, on its terrible 

path, 
Is the wind of wreck, and despair, and 

wrath ! 

The breath that blows from the climes of 

ease, 
From the isles of spice and the bread-fruit 

trees, 
With its unearned flavors to fill the mouth ; 
The zephyr that sends from the idle south 
Its soft beguiling and treacherous touch, — 
Let the soul in her struggle be shy of 

such ! 



THE FOUR WINDS. 179 

But the wind that springs from the hind- 
ward side, 
And as earth rolls under sweeps over the 

tide ; 
The gust that is vigorous, brave, and true, 
Backing you up in whatever you do, 
Keen and impelling, the wind of the west, — 
Ah, well saith the legend, that breeze is the 
best. 



THE PIPER AND THE COW. 



" There was a piper had a cow, 

And he had naught to give her : 
So he took up his pipes, and he played her a tuna, 
Consider, cow, — consider ! 

The cow considered very well, 

And gave the piper a penny ; 
And bade him play the other tune, — 

Corn-rigs are bonny." 

Good folks of the pen, I am sure you '11 

agree 
That author and publisher here we may see : 
The Piper plays tunes 'twixt the world and 

the Cow, 

180 



THE PIPER AND TIIE COW. 181 

And he has, at the same time, the care of 
the mow : 

When the crop in the barn shows but little 
to feed her, 

To the Cow quoth the Piper, Consider, con- 
sider ! 

The Cow is a creature that cheweth the cud ; 

Recalleth the hill-sides, with daisies be- 
stud, 

The sweet running waters, the breezes at 
P%, 

While mournfully munching the last lock of 
hay: 

All the world that she knoweth of fra- 
grance and stir 

Sealeth up in those dry stems its juices for 
her. 



182 THE PIPER AND TIIE COW. 

So it cometh, forsooth, that because she can 

chew 
People think it is all she can hunger to do : 
Neither Public nor Piper doth fully allow 
For the interdependence of mood and of 

mow, 
Or see how perplexing it may be, alas, 
For a Cow to consider between hay and 

grass ! 

Howbeit, if Mooly considereth well, 

And giveth the Piper good milk for to sell, 

The Piper he maketh his own modest 

penny, — 
Just one at a time, till he hath a great 

many; 
And during the while this is coming to pass 
Fresh fodder grows plenty, and delicate 

grass. 



THE PIPER AND THE COW. 183 

Once more life 's a pasture ; the season is 
June ; 

The pipes play up cheerly the bonny-rig 
tune ; 

The Cow is in clover ; the buttercups hold 

Right up to her chin their probation of 
gold; 

But she knows, all the same, how 't will be 
when they bid her 

The next year, as last year, Consider, con- 
sider ! 



BEHIND THE LOG. 



" Pussy sits behind the log ; how can she be fair ? 
Then comes in the little dog : Pussy, are you there ? 
So, so, dear mistress pussy, pray tell me how you do ! 
I thank you, little dog, I am very well just now." 

Behind the log, in the reek and mould, 
How many poor things are there, 

Who else might be sought, and caressed 
and told, 
So tenderly, they were fair ! 

Behind the log, ah, behind the log, 

Such only can tell us how 
They are glad of a word from a little dog 

Who pauses to say Bow-wow ! 

184 



SHOE AND FIDDLE. 



" Cock-a-doodle-doo ! 
My dame has lost her shoe ; 
My master 's lost his fiddlestick, 
And does n't know what to do." 

Who 's crowing, I wonder, to spread such 

a scandal 
Of the blithe-tripping dame who hath 

dropped off her sandal, 
And seemeth all sad and forlornly to 

shirk, 

Where she used, in good humor, to dance 

at her work ? 

185 



186 SHOE AND FIDDLE. 

Perhaps honest chanticleer simply may 

glory 
In faithfully giving both sides of the story • 
And scorning the loss of the lady to tell 
Without owning the miss of the master as 

well. 

For how, when the fiddlestick 's gone, can 

be played 
The music, without which the dancing is 

stayed ? 
When the man 's out of tune, the dear 

woman, 't is plain, 
Must wait till he graciously strikes up again. 

Let him hunt for his bow, then, and rosin it 

too, 
(If really he 'd like to be told what to do ;) 



SHOE AND FIDDLE. 187 

And I think, with the fiddling, 't will surely 

be found 
All else will come right for the merry-go- 

rounci 



SWING, SWONG 



" Swing, Swong ! 
The days are long ! 
Up hill, and down dale ; 
Butter is made in every vale." 

Your day will come, though it arrive but 

slowly ; 
There 's cream in all life, set however 

lowly ; 
And if, as Goose philosophy, you doubt 

it, 
Hear what the little hen found out about 

it: — 

188 



swing, swong! 189 

" Kroo ! kroo ! I 've cramp in my legs, 
Sitting so long atop of my eggs ; 
Never a minute for rest to snatch ; 
I wonder when they are going to hatch ! 

u Cluck ! cluck ! listen ! tseep ! 
Down in the nest there 's a stir and a 

peep. 
Everything comes to its luck some day ; 
I 've got chickens ! What will folks say ? " 



SHUTTLECOCK. 



u Here we go up, up, up, 
And here we go down, down, downy ; 
Here we go backward and forward, 
And here we go round, round, roundy." 

Battledore and shuttlecock ! 

Hither, and thither, and yon : 
Never a flight without a knock, 

And so the world goes on. 

Shuttlecock and battledore ! 

When will it all be done, — 

The life of the buffet and beat be o'er, 

And the life of the wings begun ? 

190 



THE MAN IN THE WILDERNESS. 



" The man in the wilderness, he asked me 
How many strawberries grew in the sea : 
I answered him, as I thought good, 
As many red herrings as grew in the wood." 

Of the face of the world they have found 
it out 
By what they must fetch and do ; 
Of the heart of the world they dispute and 
doubt, 
And yet it is just as true. 

Your fish is wholesome, and live, and clean, 

And my little fruit is fair ; 

191 



192 THE MAN IN THE WILDERNESS. 

Though the earth's good Maker might never 
mean 
That both should be everywhere. 

And all for the want of a thought like this, 

It comes, and it can but be, 
That many a soul 's in the wilderness, 

And many adrift at sea. 



PEAE AND POST. 



"The man in the moon 

Came down too soon 
To inquire the way to Norwich , 

The man in the south, 

He burnt his mouth 
With eating cold plum porridge." 

The moony men are always in a hurry 
That puts sedater people in a flurry ; 
They get their theories through other media 
Than facts of gazetteer or cyclopaedia ; 
And then, by some unknown, preposterous 

gateway, 
Rush forth to claim the realizing straight- 
way. 

193 



194 PKAE AND POST. 

Just think of lighting on a foreign planet, 
Asking for Norwich before folks began it ! 

But then, those sleepy souls at the equator 
Lose just as much, you see, by starting 

later ; 
Never strike in while anything is hot, — 
Wait till the porridge is all out o' the 

pot; — 
And through their indolence and easy fool- 
ing 
Burn their mouths, figuratively, in the cool- 
ing ! 

Too soon, too slow, there *s nothing comes 

out even ; 
The very sun that travels through the 

heaven 



PRfaJE AND POST. 196 

Heels o'er the line, now this way and now 

that, 
And only twice a year can hit it pat. 
Even your two eyes make a parallax, 
And might mislead you on two different 

tracks ; 
Between them both, the moral, I suppose, 
[s that each man should follow his own 

nose ! 



QUITE CONTRARY. 



" Mistress Mary, quite contrary, 

How does your garden grow ? 
With silver bells, and cockle shells, 
And tulips, all of a row." 

Pkithee, tell me, Mistress Mary, 

Whence this rhyme of " quite contrary 

Why should Mother Goose, beholding 

All these pleasant blooms unfolding, — 

Every prim and pretty border 

Standing in such shining order, — 

Looking o'er the lovely rows, 

Ask you " how your garden grows " ? 

196 



QUITE CONTRARY. 197 

Mary, so precise and chary, 
Are you, anyhow, contrary? 
While these sweetly perfect lines 
Nod their gentle countersigns, 
Spending all your strength on this, 
Lest the least thing grow amiss, 
Weareth some unseen parterre 
Quite a different kind of air ? 

Through your hating of a weed 
Runs there any ill to seed, — 
Thistle-blow of petulance, 
Bitter blade of blame, perchance, 
Or a flaunting stem of pride, 
In that other garden-side ? 
Mary, in our women-hearts 
Spring such curious counterparts ! 



198 QUITE CONTRARY. 

Each her home-plot watching wary, 
Lest the faultless order vary 
By the dropping of a leaf, 
Or a blossom come to grief 
From the blasting of the storm, 
Or the eating of a worm, 
Let us both be certain, Mary, 
Nothing dearer goes contrary ! 



ALONG, LONG, LONG. 



" As I was going along, long, long, 
A singing a comical song, song, song, 
The lane that I went was so long, long, long, 
And the song that I sung was so long, long, long. 
And so I went singing along." 

It 's all along, and along ! 
For the earth is bonny, and glad, and wide, 
And we 're free to wander, and free to bide, 

And we travel with a song. 

It 's long, it 's wearily long ! 

For the path is narrowed to only a lane ; 

And we 've sung it over and over again, 

That old, monotonous song. 

199 



200 ALONG, LONG, LONG. 

Nay, let us be thankful and strong, 
That the breath of life is as long as the day, 
And the song is as long as the weariful way. 

And so, we 11 go singing along ! 



FINIS. 



(MOTHER GOOSE, INTERLINE ATED.) 

" The white dove sat on the castle wall, 
I bent my bow, and shoot her I shall," — 

(The fair bird, truth, and her meanings ;) 
" I put her in my glove, both feathers and 

all;" 
(The pretty plumes that her flight let fall ; 

For I bound in a book my gleanings :) 

" I laid my bridle upon the shelf, — 

If you want any more, you may sing it 

yourself ! ' 

(It 's all in the wits and the weenings 1) 

20 



CONCLUSION. 



(EDITORIAL.) 

Doubtless I might go on to quote, 
With added paraphrase and note, 
Precept on precept, line on line, 
To instance here the fact divine 
That of her children, far and wide, 
Wisdom is always justified. 
Yet why oppress with proof of that, 
Since " verbum sapienti sat " ? 
Suffice it to have struck the vein, 

And shown some specimens of ore ; 
If any seek for further gain, 

The mine still holds abundance more. 

A mental pickaxe and a biggin 

Are all you need to go to diggin\ 

202 



CONCLUSION. 203 

For, as the Swedish seer contends, 
All things comprise an inner sense ; 
There's nothing we can write or say, 
In howsoever simple way, 
But seems a body, built to hide 
The soul that straightway is supplied; 
And many a fool, and prophet too, 
Hath spoken wiser than he knew. 

One parting word, and I am gone: 
If I Ve prevailed to make you see 
These things as they appear to me, 

Then have I proved my Goose a Swan; 

And I, small fledgling of the line, 
Yet proud to bear the ancient name, 

May, for this ancestress of mine, 

Claim place upon the page of fame; — 

That not a bard of Saxon tongue 

More true to nature ever sung: 



204 CONCLUSION. 

More surely soothed, more deeply taught, 
Or passing fact more keenly caught; 
And that — exalted side by side 
"With him of Avon, in the pride 
And love of millions — we should lay 
The tribute at her feet to-day 
That owns her, in this latter age, 
Goose, truly, — but, in savor, Sage! 



'iir ' 



015 871 809 1 



